


Relief Among Leaders

by Ayngelcat



Series: Combaticon/non team shenanigans [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crack, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Smut, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s late in season 2 – and Onslaught hasn’t quite come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to face his team to unify the gestalt. But failure to do so is driving his energy levels to an unbearable pitch. He seeks Scrapper’s advice.</p><p>*Warning* This is more or less 4000 words of Onslaught getting a BJ from Scrapper. So if you don’t like sticky mechsex and don’t like oral sex then PLEASE don’t read it <3</p><p>Written for the Combaticon Community February 2013 Challenge, this prompt: "Onslaught/any other gestalt leader--tension relief." (Thank you eerian_sadow)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief Among Leaders

“I need some advice.”

“You do?” Not unexpectedly, the Constructicon leader looked amused. The aft.

 _“Yes,”_ Onslaught ground out. “And if this goes any further, then both you and your comrades will look like an unprecedented exercise in _de_ -construction. _Do I make myself clear?”_

“Perfectly.” Scrapper looked completely unperturbed. Onslaught might has well have threatened a bath in warm sump-oil. An optic ridge raised above the grey battle mask. “So?” Scrapper said.  “What’s the problem?”

”Yes well, I er …”

Primus this was embarrassing! Now, as he fumbled for words, Onslaught wondered just _what_ had possessed him to be here, in front of this – this _leader._ Who wasn’t even a proper leader – no, not when he allowed such a level of familiarity in his team, along with drinking, drug taking, music sessions, public shows of affection and a whole range of other highly undisciplined behaviours.

And he let that medic walk all over him.

Scrapper was looking at him expectantly. Red optics glinted behind the visor. What choice was there, Onslaught thought bitterly. The alternative was Motormaster – and he was darned if he was making any admissions to HIM.

Besides, he could not ignore it - there was something infuriatingly _likeable_ about Scrapper; something which compelled the belief that however bad this got, at least he could trust him; Certainly more than Motormaster, anyway.

Onslaught let out a sigh. “I’ve got this …” instinctively he stole a look around, “energy buildup problem.”

And perhaps the trust thing had been imaginary. Because Scrapper, who really was an aft after all; oh yes – an unspeakable aft – laughed out loud. “Oh haven’t we all!” His cackles rang out.

“Fine!” Onslaught was on his feet. “I might have known I was wasting my time!”

But he found a green hand on his arm, and Scrapper on his feet too, restraining him with gentle strength and a surprisingly compassionate expression. The laughter had vanished.

“I’m sorry,” Scrapper said. “You just – reminded me of me, when the Constructicons first came together. Please – don’t go. I’m here to help.”

He was so unavoidably sincere. Onslaught resisted for a moment; then sat. “All right,” he said. “So what, in your aeons of gestalt experience, do you suggest?”

…………………….

“You see, you really do need to _do_ your team,” Scrapper said.

“Yes. So I believe.” Onslaught knew, of course, that this would be one of the first things that Scrapper said. And he’d already worked out his feelings about _that._

“How can I?” he snapped. “I mean – look at them. Oh, I’m not saying some aspects wouldn’t be easy. Vortex and Swindle would need no encouragement at all. But Vortex would never leave me alone and any chance of discipline would be out of the window. Swindle would use it to every advantage he could find, and as for the others …”

Onslaught sighed, deeply. “Blast off would never allow it. Its hard enough getting him to even _stay,_ let alone face. And Brawl? “Onslaught ran a hand over his faceplates. “Look – he’s a good enough soldier, but heck! He’s – _clumsy._ I just can’t kinda see him that way.”

Scrapper must have been amused. But to give him his dues, any outward show of this was reduced to a small chuckle. “Oh I know all about it,” he said. “Believe me. I do.”

“How,” Onslaught said bitterly. “You’re lot, they’re all – compliant. And you look after each other.” Yes, he could say that much for them.

But at that, Scrapper did burst into laughter again. “Oh Onslaught, if only you knew – and I have not four, but five of them to satisfy,” he chuckled, “and I’ve had all the problems you describe and more.  “Still – I can give you some tips.”

“You can?”

“Yes,” said Scrapper. He smiled firmly. “There’s a few simple rules. Firstly, you should always take it slowly. Second, share yourself round equally and always do the ones first that require the most effort. And thirdly, leave the ones who’ll do it any time, any place, anywhere – till last. Always. That way you can get _them_ to recharge _your_ energy levels.”

“I see …”Onslaught frowned. He wasn’t even sure if he ought to be hearing that about the other Constructicons; Somehow it seemed like too much information. And he had no idea, whatsoever, how to apply what he had just heard to his own team.

But he had not much time to consider it. There was a touch to his leg, a pleasant sensation, and Onslaught looked down to see Scrapper’s hand on his thigh, lightly stroking the cords.

“I know its not easy,” Scrapper said. “And it may take time. But there’s things you can do in the meantime. Like I said - I can help.”

Onslaught should have knocked the hand away. Primus, the mech had a nerve! But it was undeniably - pleasant. Besides which, his charge had started up again at the touch, his relays tingling wildly and spike pressurizing rapidly. He had a feeling that if he didn’t go ahead and do whatever else it was that Scrapper said was ‘helpful’ then he would be in an even worse predicament later on.

“Leader to leader stuff,” Scrapper said. “It can be kinda – special.”

Onslaught looked up at the gleaming red visor. “Very well then,” he said. “Do your worst.”

…………….

“D’you like being sucked off?’

Onslaught’s jaw dropped. If he’d had a drink, he would have choked on it. It was said with such calm matter of factness. He might have been asking Onslaught the time of day.

“I er – well I do, yes. Well of course!” he managed to say tersely.

“Oh good,” Scrapper said. “Y’see – we could frag. Or face. Or fuck. Or whatever you like to call it. And I think I’d quite like to sometime, believe me. But we’d have to play around for a while to get our component compatibility aligned, and from the look of you Onslaught, you could do with some relief now. That’s a good way of getting it. And I’d enjoy it too.”

“Right …” Onslaught was still stunned.

Leaning on the back of the chair with one hand, Scrapper regarded Onslaught with the same calm demeanour. Perhaps his leadership style was more interesting than Onslaught had thought. Was this why the Constructicons often seemed so _unruffled?_

“Now – how do you like to overload?” Scrapper asked.

“I kind of – take it as it comes.” Onslaught simply could not think what else to say.

“No,” said Scrapper crisply. “I mean, do you like to be standing up, sitting down, lying down, on all fours – there are many different ways that I can give you a blow job, Onslaught.”

There were. And before he got _put away_ for so long, he’d had one in many different ways. Just never heard it suggested _quite like that_ during the preliminaries. He thought quickly, the pressure in his interface covers increasing. “I like to be standing, actually.”

“Good!” Scrapper seemed pleased. “Now where do you want to stand?”

A measure of impatience crept in. The charge was getting stronger, Onslaught’s EM field letting out a soft hum. Darn it, these questions were turning him on. Couldn’t Scrapper just get on with it?

Onslaught looked around. There was a space over between a desk and some shelves. Lining the wall was a single metal rail. “Over there,” Onslaught said.

“Good choice,” Scrapper said. “I can chain your hands to that rail if you like, but to begin with I suggest we see how things go.” He was already wheeling a chair over. “Now, if you’d just like to get into position?” he said cheerfully.

“Right …” Onslaught moved his now pulsating frame over to the spot. As he stood before the rail, his EM field didn’t escape Scrapper. “You certainly want it,” Scrapper said, unlatching his mask.

Now Onslaught was annoyed again. He felt exposed; silly, just standing there like that. He was Onslaught, for frags sake – this was ridiculous.

Maybe he should just grab the Constructicon leader and fuck him anyway - hard - and the hell with misaligned components. Perhaps after all any ‘leader’ specialness ought to be Onslaught showing Scrapper just which gestalt was the stronger, the more superior. “Would you mind not stating the fraggin’ obv …”

But then he stopped. Scrapper had removed his mask, and was looking at him.

For the second time, Onslaught’s mouth fell open. “Primus …” he gasped. “Why d’you hide behind that mask all the time?”

……………….

It was odd the way they all were taken aback at his looks. Scrapper had studied himself in the mirror on a number of occasions, and he still didn’t think he was _that_ handsome.

He had none of Hook’s angular sophistication, or Bonecrusher’s swarthiness or Scavenger’s cuteness. But even those humans had said he was a ‘honey’ – and the other Constructicons got highly jealous at the fact that everyone else thought so too.

So it must be true, as far as they were concerned, and meant that - most times -  it really was a good idea for his mask to remain firmly on, when they weren’t in the privacy of the Constructicon quarters.

The others wouldn’t care that it was off now, mind. Not with the recordings he was going to get, with the secret cameras and his own internal monitors. They all fancied Onslaught; had snickered in the corridors about the big, sexy military leader, had speculated about the size of his spike, and how much noise he made when he overloaded.

No – they’d love this. It would be perfect for adding that ‘extra special something’ to their own interfacing. Even better than the footage Hook had gotten of Motormaster …

Onslaught was impatient. “What are you waiting for?” he snapped.

Scrapper seated himself on the chair squarely on front of Onslaught. The mighty codpiece bulged before him like a bomb casing about to blow apart, the pelvic joints oozing heavy grease as the hips squirmed in anticipation.  The powerful EM field sent scatters all over Scrapper, raising his own charge.

Scrapper sincerely doubted he’d be able to keep his promise to Hook and not overload himself before he made it back to quarters. Hook liked himself to be the sole recipient of Scrapper's fustration. But the crane would understand. Provided the footage was good.

Sitting upright, Scrapper ran the backs of his hands slowly up the massive chunky thighs which quivered, along with the codpiece. A strangled groan came from above. “Pit,” Onslaught rasped. “D’you want me to open, or what?”

Scrapper couldn’t wait to see the contents of that codpiece. But he managed to stay calm.  “No,” he said. “I want you to stay closed until I say. In the meantime, relax and unspool your conventional interface cable.”

………………..

How much more complicated did this have to get?

“Why?” Onslaught snapped, aware that his intakes were heaving in an anticipation that – given this ridiculous situation – he didn’t want to feel.

“So I can feel your reactions,” Scrapper said smoothly. “Hook has taught me a few things over the aeons. This is one. This way I know what you are going through and how to maximize the experience.” His fingers slithered up Onslaught’s groin seams and over his pelvic plating, making the Combaticon commander shiver. “Trust me. It’ll make it better for you.”

Onslaught supposed it made sense. He went to respond – but his intakes hitched as the pleasant sensation increased in his groin. Scrapper seemed fixated on Onslaught’s anatomy, as he ran his thumbs down either side of Onslaught’s codpiece. That _was_ nice, and it was turning him ON. Onslaught couldn’t help it; hips jerked, as his EM field pulsed hard over Scrapper.

The Constructicon gave off his own little shiver. He smiled. He looked up, his visor reflecting above that still unbelievably handsome and now happy looking face. 

Onslaught snorted, dismayed at his own lack of control. But the energy pulse had relieved the pressure just enough to make him glow pleasantly and feel a little more ‘together.’ There was a click, as he opened his panel. Scrapper reached up calmly and pulled out the connector and clicked into his own panel, which was already gaping wide.

“Mmnnn … nice,” Scrapper’s face lit up as the connection established.

It was. And Onslaught couldn’t help looking at Scrapper’s panel with his connector going into it and liking what he saw. Nevertheless, he stiffened, new fears emerging. “Don’t think you’re getting behind my firewall,” he growled, “And don’t think you’re getting outta here alive with anything classified.”

But Scrapper merely chuckled that engaging laugh of his. “Absolutely not!” He assured Onslaught. “Why in the universe would I want that? I have a hard enough task keeping track of Constructicon business, let alone yours as well.”

And now Scrapper’s intakes had deepened, and his hands were stroking Onslaught’s thighs and pelvic area more firmly. Onslaught grunted, widening his stance. His charge was up again, his spike fully pressurised and hard against the inside of his codpiece. Primus he wanted to open.

For an instant he almost did. Ideas of grabbing Scrapper by the sides of his head, and shoving it in flashed through the Combaticon processor. But a curious instinct informed Onslaught that it was worth doing as Scrapper said.

“Let me feel your sensory array,” Scrapper murmured, still massaging in a very pleasant way.

New charge and impatience raged; but Onslaught restrained himself – though he hadn’t thrown every bit of caution to the solar winds. Tentatively, the Combaticon commander opened one sensory aperture. That should give Scrapper just a _glimpse._ And it was all he would be getting.

……………..

It was enough though; enough for Scrapper to feel Onslaught’s intense frustration. It hit him like the blast from a high octane flame thrower, a surge of lust rushing through his own systems and making his own circuits sear with sudden heat.

 _Far out,_ he thought. _This is going to be awesome!_ He suddenly did not want to wait any longer. “Open,” he said briskly.

“About time!” The relief which cannoned down the connection was almost as thrilling. And then Scrapper gasped as Onslaught’s codpiece opened and his apparatus finally slid free.

He could hardly keep his own charge contained. The emerging spike was _enormous_ – and it was a work of art. Exotic grey metal glinted, as a series of cylindrical segments unfolded rapidly. They clicked into place with perfect precision and synchrony, leaving faint but very sexy seams in the protruding appendage.

The base was massive, too large for Scrapper to get his hand right around. At the other end was a large, smooth, rounded head.

“Wow!” Scrapper was lost for words.

Onslaught shifted uncomfortably. “Well frag. Is that all you’re gonna do? _Look_ at it?”

Scrapper could have _looked_ at it for ages. He would happily have self serviced whilst admiring it, relieving the pressure in his own spike with avid enthusiasm. But Onslaught was impatient – and _that head_ gleamed invitingly. Making the Commander overload slowly, watching his arousal reach dizzy heights through _this_ thing was going to make the experience absolutely exquisite.

Squeeing inwardly at the prospect of just _touching_ , Scrapper took the end between his thumb and forefinger and gently squeezed.

“Oh frag!” Onslaught’s thighs quivered violently and energy shot through the connection again. _Primus he could go off easily,_ Scrapper thought, excitement racing through him again as he took his hand away. He’d hardly done anything!

“Just relax,” he said, aware of a huskiness in his own voice. “Settle yourself down. You don’t want this to be over in a few astroseconds, do you?”

A pity he couldn’t do everything Hook could. Hook would have jacked in medically and adjusted the arousal settings. But it was all right. Onslaught took deep intakes. Although his spike extended out still further, the end glistening, energy crept from him in a series of dull pulses, lowering his residual charge.

“Good,” Scrapper said. “Now – lets just start with a little simple stimulation … OK?”

He began to run his hand slowly up and down the impressive appendage. It throbbed, hotly, all crafted panels and perfect seams. Yes – a masterpiece! Onslaught moaned, thrusting his hips forward, and another big wave of arousal rushed through the Constructicon.

“That’s more like it – _frag_ yes,” Onslaught’s pleasure was evident. Scrapper was delighted.  Placing his other hand on Onslaught’s groin next to the base, he increased the pressure of his strokes, pausing ever so slightly to squeeze here and there, reading the sensitive places in the spike through Onslaught’s reactions. Oh Hook would be pleased that he was applying the ‘technique’ so well!

“That’s – nice. Got to admit it - you’re good …” Onslaught said it through gritted denta, his hands gripping the rail behind him as his hips moved in time with the strokes. Pleasurable sensations flooded the connection in time with stronger energy pulses. Scrapper increased the speed a little and energy jolted through as Onslaught let out a grunt, impatience again making itself known. “Faster,” he growled.

Scrapper grasped the base as best he could and went faster and harder, his own spike now throbbing and uncomfortably constrained. He really wanted to get it out – and thought he might have to do this very soon - never mind Hook. His own intakes hissed nosily as he watched little blue sparks jump from under his hand. Grease and ozone scents filled the air. 

Onslaught’s EM field swelled and swirled as he thrust into Scrapper’s hand. He grunted, letting off a powerful wave of energy, and a sudden rush of need wettened Scrapper’s valve. _Primus I want him to fuck me,_ Scrapper realized. Ideas of opening his valve cover right there and then and manoeuvring on to the spike were not far away. Scrapper could already feel that hugeness sliding in, opening his aching valve as it went.

But no – he’d told the others he wouldn't even overload, let alone be penetrated. Besides which, Onslaught could very well frag him and then depart. He’d look for another source of relief next time – and Scrapper didn’t want that. He wanted the Combaticon leader satisfied, yet _not_ satisfied; wanted him only too eager to come back for more.

Scrapper wriggled a little on the chair, liking the sensations shooting up his valve and through his hardened spike. He bent down and kissed Onslaught’s spike on the tip, mouthing gently and just flicking it with his glossa in a way the others always said he was _extremely_ good at ....

“Primus!” Onslaught roared. Charge bolted down the connection and the acidy taste of transfluid filled Scrapper’s mouth. It was nowhere near an overload.  But it was enough to give Onslaught a taste and leave him hungry with need.

This was going very much to plan. “You like that?” Scrapper looked up at the heaving, quivering mech towering above him.

……….

Of course Onslaught liked it. Of all the dumb questions today, that was probably the dumbest.

“What do you think?” he rasped, intakes hissing over the whirring of his cooling fans.

The aft, making him wait. Again there was that urge to just grab Scrapper and throw him down – and this time it was boosted by the definite impression that Scrapper would rather like that. The fact made Onslaught feel better. Y _ou’re not having it,_ he thought. Besides, he had to admit that this buildup, whilst hardly his usual style, had an attraction all of its own.

Scrapper touched the spike to his lips again. But he wasn’t messing around, now. He slid his hand down the length of Onslaught’s spike. Then he parted his lips and moved his mouth over it, managing do so in just such a way that sent nerve endings tingling and sensations racing through the length of Onslaught’s spike to his core.

“Oh that’s good …” Onslaught gripped the rail behind him harder, offlining his optics as Scrapper lowered on to the spike slowly taking it, sucking gently, his lips tight and glossa just flicking at the intricate structures.

 _How the hell does he do that?_ Onslaught couldn’t remember a time when he’d been made to feel so good by something as simple as this. Scrapper paused, Onslaught’s spike tip grazing the back of his throat; then he slid up again, soft metal lips gliding up, up before his glossa swirled around the head; then he sank back down again.

Meanwhile, skilled fingers plucked at the inside of Onslaught’s thighs in just such a way as to push the pleasure even further.

Onslaught groaned, thrusting his hips out so as to give Scrapper the best chance of accommodating his organ. But now, his charge was right up there, his entire circuitry swollen and ready to explode. He wanted to move. He _had_ to move. He could not stop himself from thrusting as Scrappers mouth slid down the next time, so the lips made it to the base of his spike faster. Then he pulled back and thrust back in again, taking one hand off the rail to grab Scrapper’s helm. 

But Scrapper pulled back quickly, removing his mouth altogether! “Keep still Onslaught,” the handsome face looked up reproachfully. “You’ll build energy too fast. Waiting will be better.  Do you want me to chain your hands?”

“No!” Onslaught roared. “But I gotta move - I gotta _come_ , damnit!” His spike quivered and throbbed as he burned for more. Again that urge to just pillage this teasing Constructicon pile of scrap …

“Relax,” Scrapper was looking at him, calm - but unable to hide his excitement.  “Just let me do this to you and enjoy the sensations. We’ll soon be there.”

The Constructicon’s mouth was already on him again. And – thank Primus on his throne - it was not sliding gently this time, but moving up and down vigorously. Both of Scrapper’s hands grabbed the sides of Onslaught’s aft forcefully; and then Scrapper was pulling him and pushing him back, in and out, in and out, deep into the back of his throat.

“Oh YES! That’s more like it …” Onslaught’s thighs widened, his intakes coming out in thick gasps as his charge reached new heights. It went on - and up - and Onslaught was soon at the brink again, squirming and straining for release. Yet he kept his hands on the rail, surprising himself by managing not to move so much as before, relishing Scrapper doing all the work as he basked in the near agonizing pleasure.

Primus, Scrapper was good! The Construction’s mouth was fantastic. Every time Onslaught got _up there,_ so close to going over the edge, Scrapper slowed down just a little. Energy escaped, scattering over Scrapper in a spray of sparks -  but Onslaught didn’t quite overload. There’d be a few slow strokes where Onslaught seethed in frustration and nearly broke the ‘rules.’ Then Scrapper would start again and the residual energy would soar, and he’d be close, close, so close, thrusting his hips forward ….

Every time it happened he went a little higher, got a little closer …..

“Good,” Scrapper mumbled around his spike, his voice husky as the hands squeezed his aft firmly which let Onslaught know – making him feel weak with relief – that Scrapper needed this to reach a conclusion too.

……….

Actually, it had been harder for Scrapper to stay in control than he had made out. Just imagining that spike in his valve and he’d semi overloaded there twice, and now he sat in a slight ‘puddle’ on the chair. His spike was _truly_ needing attention and - no matter what the others said later - if it didn’t escape soon then Scrapper was afraid it might break its way through the casing.

He sucked harder, massaging Onslaught’s aft and bringing Onslaught to the brink again. This time,  the urgency of Onslaught’s need and the delicate thread by which the Commander hung on was so fragile that Scrapper could resist no longer. He opened his codpiece, allowing his spike to slide out between his legs. Parting them, he took one hand off Onslaught’s aft and grabbed it; throbbing as he prepared for the last stage that would send Onslaught over the edge.

Onslaught, of course, didn’t realize the full extent of Scrapper’s arousal. He was writhing before Scrapper, caught in the moment, every synapse in an agony-come-ecstasy of imminent release.  Residual charge reached critical as heavy pulses of pre overload fired down the connection. He whimpered, ignoring at last the instruction to let Scrapper do it all and stabbing motions with his hips, grabbing either side of Scrapper’s helm and thrusting hungrily into him.

Scrapper let him do it, unable to suppress his own need. His hand worked his own spike in firm strokes as he pulled at Onslaught’s aft and swallowed the Combaticon leader’s massive spike deeper at each thrust, rolling his glossa over the tip at each withdrawal.

The intensity became excruciating. Scrapper’s  own spike throbbed huge in his hand. Then Onslaught’s residual energy gathered and he let out a strangled yell. It was happening.

Onslaught cried out, bucking hard once, twice; then he let out one last almighty yell as finally he released. Bursts of hot fluid hit the back of Scrapper’s throat as Scrapper’s own Spike discharged, spraying over his lap and Onslaught’s knees.

For a few moments the universe went hazy as Scrapper absorbed the force of Onslaught’s overload and his own went on, peaking again in a frenzy of sensations, lights and a buzzing in his audials. Then his fists clenched in the grip of the spasms that rocked both of them. Scrapper let Onslaught’s spike go and onlined his optics – just – dimly to see Onslaught’s form slumped at the knees and hanging on to the rail again as he shuddered through the rest of his overload.

Scrapper offlined his optics again and put his head in his hand, feeling weak, panting as he relished the sensations. But as they died down, he couldn’t stop from smiling. That was something! And whilst he knew it would disappoint Hook that he hadn’t held the spike thing off until later (Hook was so weird about some things), the others would love it.

And so would Hook, when he actually watched.

……….

In the considerable relief of Afterglow, Onslaught had to admit he was pleasantly surprised – to put it mildly. He still couldn’t believe it had been that _good._ He looked at the Constructicon with a new respect. No wonder his team adored him. Onslaught only hoped he could somehow manage to engender some of what he’d just had in his own team – although he didn’t want to think about doing that with Brawl _quite_ yet.

And Scrapper had obviously gotten off on it himself. A lot. A sticky trail ran down Onslaught’s knees and on to his feet.

The Combaticon commander was amused. And not unimpressed by what he saw. “So you liked that too?” he said. 

“Oh yes.” Scrapper had recovered. Reaching down, he unclicked the connector from his port and handed it to Onslaught. “It’s always good between leaders,” he said, closing his panel. “It’s to do with Decepticon alliance programming. Don’t understand the details myself – have to ask Hook or Soundwave. Here …”

Scrapper’s spike had retracted, and he was getting up. Now he was dragging the chair back to where it was before and wiping the seat; and already it was – Onslaught could hardly believe it – as though nothing had happened. Or nothing more than a casual chat or afternoon drink. He did notice that despite the Constructicon’s nonchalance, he nevertheless walked with a slight spring in his step, and he looked extremely pleased.

Onslaught spooled away his cable and slowly retracted his spike. His body still throbbed, the tingles of aftermath still surging deep in his core, and in places he was only too happy for them to do that, having lacked in attention for so long. Onslaught doubted the effect would last forever. But it had certainly taken the edge off for the time being.

But no – it wouldn’t last- and Onslaught certainly hoped Scrapper would be amenable to some more ‘alliance programming’ (fascinating!) perhaps of a rather more ‘expansive’ nature.

“You – uh – like being spiked?” he asked before he could stop himself?

Scrapper looked a little startled. “Oh yes,” he said. “But not now. After that – I really gotta go see to my team.” He wagged a finger as Onslaught. “And you gotta go see to yours!”

“I’ll do that,” Onslaught muttered, sizing up the green form and feeling rather rueful when Scrapper put on his mask.

“Good,” Scrapper turned to him. “Like I said – don’t forget – share yourself around, but the most unwilling one first. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will …”

Onslaught stared at the door for a good few moments after Scrapper had disappeared through it.


End file.
